There was a sound from the library next door and the duke raised his head. She could not help but notice the gleam of appreciation in his silvered eyes as he surveyed his handiwork. Her nipples had drawn into hard peaks and her whole body throbbed in time to her raised heartbeat. She allowed the duke to adjust her corset and pull up her bodice. She shivered every time his fingers brushed against her and she suspected he knew it. It seemed to take him an age to make her respectable again.

Even when she was decently covered, he still held her captive on his desk, his thigh warm and solid against her skirts and between her legs, making her want to grind herself against him in a most unladylike way.

As her senses returned, she realized she was the one clinging to the duke.

He moved away and surveyed her, a small smile on his lips. "Now, my dear, I've work to do. I suggest you go shopping with Nick. I'm sure there are items of a more personal nature that you wish to purchase for yourself?"

He reached behind her and presented her with a small leather bag that clinked when he dropped it into her hand. "Before you start to argue, these are your wages for accompanying Eloise to Bath. Enjoy spending them. I will see you at dinner."

Elizabeth was unable to do more than nod at his brisk flow of instructions. Her body still seemed to be reaching for his and she was unwilling to move. It was an effort just to stand up.

He paused before sitting at his desk. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Maybe while you are out you might consider a better choice of words for describing my kisses? If this is what 'quite pleasant' does to you, I dread to think what wonderful or exquisite will achieve."

Elizabeth managed an unsteady curtsey and headed for the door, the duke's soft laughter filling the space behind her.

Chapter 8

Shopping with coin in her purse and without the worry of her stepfather's debtors was an invigorating experience. Elizabeth had lived in London for several years but her previous existence had been fraught with difficulties and she had been far too busy to shop for pleasure. She had taken charge of the housekeeping at an early age to prevent the Foresters from gambling away every last penny the rest of the family had.

Her days had been spent searching for cheap food and patching her clothing whilst her mother pretended that nothing had changed. Mrs. Forester believed that maintaining appearances mattered and had continued to receive visitors as though she were the queen in the shabby, rented houses they were forced to live in.

It was Elizabeth who had baked the confectioneries her mother loved to serve to guests and Elizabeth who saved and reused the expensive tea leaves to make them last longer. When slovenly maids were unwilling or unable to perform their more delicate tasks, Elizabeth developed a skilled hand with a flat iron to preserve her mother's finery.

She glanced down at the intricate black pleats on her bodice and sighed with pure pleasure. Since she entered the duke's grand establishment, nobody had asked her to iron or wash a thing, tasks she loathed.

Nicholas made her shopping experience even more rewarding by anticipating her every whim. Without complaint, he had accompanied her to Hookhams Library where she had taken out a subscription. Then he had recommended a haberdashers where she provided herself with necessities for sewing. Their morning ended with their enjoying a well earned rest and an ice at Gunter's.

Elizabeth calculated that the immense sum of money the duke had tossed at her so casually would prove more than sufficient to pay for Michael's care for several months. She counted the remaining coins in her purse and decided she could spare enough to treat herself to a few luxuries. She smiled as Nicholas bowed and opened the door to Crabtree's perfumery.

With a thrill of guilty pleasure she sought out her favorite lily of the valley soap fragrance and added it to the lavender water she intended to take to her mother as a gift.

Nicholas waited patiently by the door and Elizabeth smiled as she caught his eye. She turned back and murmured an apology as her gloved hand tangled with another woman's basket, spilling the contents.

"Elizabeth? Oh my goodness. Is it indeed you?"

She glanced up and found herself staring into her half-sister's delighted face. With a glad cry, she opened her arms and enveloped Mary in a warm embrace. Mary was becomingly attired in a blue velvet pelisse and matching bonnet, which only enhanced her blossoming beauty.

While Mary pulled away and picked up her scattered purchases, Elizabeth studied her blonde, petite seventeen- year-old half-sister. Even though it had been only a few short weeks since they had last seen each other, Mary's sophisticated wardrobe made her look older. Elizabeth's eyes narrowed as she estimated the cost of the elaborate outfit Mary wore and wondered who had paid for it.

"Mother said that you had left the city," Mary said breathlessly, her blue eyes shining, her hands clasping Elizabeth's. "Where on earth have you been? You must promise to tell me all about it."

Before Elizabeth could muster a reply, a gloved hand gripped Mary's arm. "Mary, come away now."

Elizabeth's throat tightened as she registered the disdain on her mother's averted face.

"Mother..." Elizabeth whispered but her mother refused to spare her a glance, her rigid attention all on Mary.

"Mama, it is Elizabeth," Mary said slowly.

"You are mistaken. We must go, Mary."

Mrs. Forester's fingers tightened on Mary's arm and she began to turn away. In desperation, Elizabeth reached out to touch her mother's shoulder. Her hand was shaken off and Mrs. Forester hissed between her teeth.

"I don't know how you have the nerve to show yourself in here. What do you think it will do to Mary's reputation if she is seen conversing with the likes of you? You know she is to make her debut this Season. Have you no shame?"

Elizabeth recoiled as though her mother had slapped her and she bumped against the solid form of Nicholas Gallion.

With one hand pressed to her heated cheek, Elizabeth watched her mother's hurried withdrawal. Waves of humiliation made her wish the ground would open up and swallow her. She cast a hasty glance around, convinced everyone was staring at her.

"Mrs. Waterstone, are you all right?"

She barely made out Nicholas's concerned voice through the roaring in her ears. His arm came around her waist and the next thing she knew she was outside in the cold air propped against the windowsill.

"Wait here," he commanded.

She didn't bother to reply, being too busy trying not to cry. Nicholas returned in an instant and she allowed him to escort her into the carriage. She made no effort to converse with him on the journey back to the duke's house and instead stared out of the window, seeing nothing. She struggled to keep her lips from trembling as she pictured her mother's disgust and Mary's confusion. Was she really such a pariah? If only she could explain...

As the carriage drew to a halt, she didn't wait for Nicholas to assist her out. She bolted up the steps, past a surprised Standish, and into the house, seeking her bedroom and the privacy to cry.

*** *** ***

Gervase knocked softly on the door of Miss Waterstone's bedroom and, receiving no reply, knocked again, harder. The door opened a crack and he pushed it inward, letting himself fully into the room and closed it behind him.

Elizabeth was a pitiful sight. Unlike most of his previous mistresses, she didn't posses the ability to cry beautifully. Her nose was red, her eyes puffy and all the color had leached from her face, leaving her a little wan ghost in her sophisticated black gown. She lifted her reddened eyes to his, swallowed convulsively, and went to rub her nose on her sleeve.

With a sigh, for he had many urgent matters to attend to, Gervase handed her his large linen handkerchief. She blew her nose loudly and defiantly and then attempted to pass the crumpled fabric back to him. He waved her offer aside.

Keeping her in his sights, he crossed the room, poured a glass of water, and brought it back to her. "Nicholas said that something happened to upset you."

Her slight nod confirmed his statement. Gervase sat down and pulled her onto his lap. She wrung his handkerchief between her fingers.

"It was my mother??she gave me the cut direct." Gervase said nothing and kept his face politely blank until she continued, her voice harsh with unshed tears. "She would not allow my half-sister to acknowledge me, either."

"You must have known this might happen. Your mother denied you the house as soon as she found out." He paused as her knuckles whitened on the handkerchief. "So why are you crying about it now?"

She got to her feet, wrapped her arms around her waist and presented him with her straight back. "Because I didn't think she meant it. I thought she spoke in anger or in fear of my stepfather." She turned around, the devastation in her eyes unmistakable. "But she didn't. She really doesn't want to acknowledge me."

Gervase felt an unexpected pang of sympathy, which he ruthlessly suppressed. It made him speak more harshly than he had perhaps intended to.

"I told you that your family might find your choice of profession unacceptable. If you had listened to me before you embarked on this ridiculous scheme you might have avoided all this unnecessary weeping."

Her chin came up and he silenced an impulse to applaud her returning courage.